Page 29 of In the Light of the Moon

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Sylvie

Ionce again lamented my failure at making more advanced mixtures to keep some of Granna’s flowers blooming past their season, but she just snickered. “Safe to say you’ve not got a strong proficiency for potion craft, sweetheart. And I wouldn’t say your thumb is black, necessarily…”But she didn’t need to. She really only let me go near the plants when I gave the most basic maintenance. Which, by non-witch standards, was what everyone did. But my retired florist grandmother had the greenest of green thumbs, and it felt like I was letting her down.

I drummed my fingers on the counter while I waited for the old and reliable coffee maker to bubble and dispense while child-like shame crept up my back. She never said it outright, but I knew that I would be further along if I’d made it more of a priority to spend time learning from Granna. And though I wished that I could blame it on my father’s disdain for witchcraft, I’d had the autonomy to take my studies seriously for a long time now.

But I feltsomethingswirling with me. Each passing day, it was like some urge wanted to release, but I had no idea what. Basic poultices and tonics were fine. Little spells to give me confidence for my exams and writing were only marginally useful. The Book held a wide variety of information—for a line of witches with varying abilities, Granna informed me time and time again when I got frustrated.

“Not everything is going to work for you. And that’s okay. Your mother was also completely hopeless when it came to creating and nurturing life besides yours. You are doing a fine job with basic spells and incantations,” she comforted me while she swept a very tiny collection of debris into a pile.

“Yeah, well, nothing else seems to be working for me,” I muttered sullenly while I mixed cream and sweetener into my travel mug.

Granna just shrugged, directing her eyes back to her meticulous sweeping of the tiled floor, and I left her a steaming mug on the counter for whenever she’d take a break. “Well, you’ve been focused on trying to learn the basics and those thatIhave an affinity for. At this point, I would encourage you to follow the natural pull your being is drawn toward.”

Why did I feel like she was speaking in riddles to me? Ones that she already knew the answers to. I took an irritated seat at the bay window and tucked into my quick breakfast of bacon and toast. While I ate, I added to and crossed lines in my pocket-sized notebook. It mostly served to record my anxious ramblings. Not journaling, but giving external space so that my mind didn’t get too overwhelmed. Next to my ongoing list of part-time jobs to apply for so that I could leave Vinny’s, I started drafting ideas of where I could take my studies, trying to look inward for this ‘pull’ Granna mentioned. This wasn’t the first time she’d given me the directive, but she also wasn’t offering much help in illuminating the path.

“Granna, can you just tell me what path is for me? You sound like you know it already,” I whined and frustratingly shoved my journal in my bag.

She sighed, “Sweetheart, some of the benefit is the journey.”

“But some guidance,please. I promise I’ll do the real work on my own!”

I was about to take hold of the dustpan for her, but Granna beat me to it and disposed of all she’d cleaned from the floors. “Well, Sylvie, you already know that you have an affinity for nature, as do I. I could barely get you to come back inside from wandering the forest when you were a girl,” Granna waved a hand in the direction of the woods. “I’d find you crouched behind a log, whispering to the mushrooms or the spiders that made home in the decay.” She knew that I’d been taking walks out there on my own, but I kept my fruitless attempts to myself. It felt so embarrassing to bend down and try to listen for fucking mushrooms to speak to me, only to hear nothing. To continue on until I reached the marking etched into the bark of a large oak tree. As a girl, it’d been the barrier that warned I was about to go too far away from home. Even now, I still never went past it.

I huffed, “So, what? You’re saying I should direct my attention toward darkness and death?”

She rolled her eyes and took my set of keys off the hook by the door. She held them out to me on extended finger, “There is more to manipulating the natural elements than growing and blooming. That’s just one part of the life cycle.” And before I could say much more, Granna gave me a hearty shove out of the door.

My jeans swished between my legs as I made my way to my car, the red color matching my nails, and in my usual routine, I looked to the forest that was the ever-present backdrop of Antler Pointe. My father’s home was much more urban, the city life constricting and gray. Here, however, I felt still. Relaxed. Thesubdued buzzing of anxiety that I felt here was a far cry from the panic attacks and indigestion-inducing sort that colored much of my teenage and early adulthood years.

The forest was now awash with reds, oranges, and yellows. It was beautiful, even more than the vibrant and dark greens of spring and summer.

Granna’s words played in my mind on repeat, memories of doing just what she’d said—rolling around in dirt, talking with fungi and spiders and believing wholeheartedly that they spoke back—percolated like our old coffee maker. When I’d gotten used to that sort of playing after a few weeks at Granna’s, my father would go through the lengthy process of discouraging the messy behavior once I came back home. To the point that, as I grew, I almost forgot that part of me entirely.

I thought back to what Granna said about my mother and I. I’d yet to see any ghosts, but the darkening and wilting of Granna’s flowers under my hand when I tried to exert any power or influence always made me feel as deflated as the brown, curling petals. I rolled down my windows, letting the spiced air of autumn flow through my car while I drove to school.

With the sweet warmth opening up in my chest, I let my hand roll in the current of wind as I drove and focused in on that feeling and where I’d experienced it before. Always this time of year, when I frolicked as a child, and while exploring the wood now. Even if the whispers never came.

And I felt it when I was with Orion. I knew that Josie was the one to pull the High Priestess the other day, but maybe it was time I take that piece of guidance, too.

I felt like a teenager breaking house rules, but I supposed that added to the thrill of having Orion sprawled on top of me. His hand was gripped tightly on my hip, and I couldn’t keep mine off of him. From running over his arms that were soft and rippling with lean muscle, to feeling the prickle of emerging stubble on his square jaw, I wanted him to feel how much I enjoyed this.

And just like in high school, the music playing over the small bluetooth speaker on my bookshelf was just barely drowning out the sounds of our kissing and heavy breathing. I couldn’t keep the little sounds of pleasure from escaping when he nibbled at my neck. Never lingering in one place long enough to leave a hickey, but it sent tingles down my spine all the same.

Suffice to say, our evening had been going quite well. When I suggested we go to one of the more quiet bars in town to grab some food, Orion agreed, and the conversations between us now ebbed and flowed easily. Even the moments where our chatter died down felt natural. To pick up talking again was no hardship, and no awkwardness came.

With an encouraging touch, I took Orion’s hand in mine and directed it between my legs that were spread wide to accommodate his narrow hips. Even though we’d had drinks already, I invited him inside for another while showing him around the house. He’d agreed and walked quietly behind me while I showed him Granna’s little old house with its jungle of plants. Though I was hopeless at making them truly flourish, I was able to list them all out and describe the additional uses for each one.

After babbling about the care routine of Granna’s giant monstera deliciosa, I caught myself and turned, worried that I was boring him. But Orion was absorbed by the plant and touched one of the deep fenestrations on a leaf that was twice the size of his head. After a moment, he briefly met my eyes, and his were crinkled in contentment.

I then asked him upstairs to see my room and show him my growing book collection. And yeah, after a few minutes, we ended up on my bed, kissing in a rhythm that never ceased to make my heart race. His mouth tasted like whiskey and cigarettes, his cologne slightly earthy, and I felt another chunk of the barriers in my mind crumble and fall away. When his long fingers met the warmth coming from beneath my jeans, he slowed his kisses and pulled up to look at me.

“Sylvie, we don’t have to.” Though his pupils were dilated wide with lust, and I could feel his heart thudding in his chest, his voice was steady and ringing with sincerity.

“I know. But I want to.” I offered a reassuring smile, but he was still looking over me with that mixture of arousal and concern. With a huff, I moved his hand up to my breast. I went out braless more often than not, and I knew that the thin barrier of my top would drive him wild. My fingers squeezed over his, letting him know that I really was okay with him touching me like this.

Orion’s face scrunched, and I watched his Adam’s apple bob with a deep swallow. I pulled my hand back to let him touch me as he saw fit, or pull away if he so chose, but after a moment, he let his brow fall to touch mine. His hand, large with long fingers, was able to fit most of my breast in his palm. Orion softly kneaded and teased my hardened nipple with his thumb.

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